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nataliawrites · 2 years

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Sweeter Than Revenge // Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff x Verstappen!Reader

Toto Wolff was a perfectionist. He demanded nothing but the best. He refused to settle for second or third. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get what he wanted.

That’s where you come in. Some would call you a jack of all trades. Despite your relatively young age, you had graduated at the top of your Oxford class with a Doctorate in Engineering Science — specializing in automotive and mechanical engineering — and a Masters in Strategy and Innovation. Your thesis on exploiting friction and wind resistance instead of battling against it caught the eye of numerous car manufacturers, all wanting to snatch up the mind behind the innovate approach that could revolutionize the industry.

But when Formula 1 teams joined the fray for your employment, your mind was made up the second you saw the email from the Mercedes-AMG Petronas team principal himself. The exorbitant salary, company car, and executive position Toto was offering you were benefits but they paled in comparison to the opportunity to do the one thing you had been waiting for since you permanently left home at 18 years old — prove the people that you had once called family wrong.

Growing up as the eldest child of Jos Verstappen and half-sister to Max Verstappen was anything but sunshine and rainbows. Constantly in the shadow of your younger brother. Always ignored in favor of your father’s golden son. Never receiving approval or the affection you desired after the loss of your mother. Always an afterthought to racing.

When you moved to an entirely different country, merely a teenager yourself, the only communication you received from your family was a text message from Jos reminding you “not to embarrass the family name” a few months after you started university. So you powered forward, completely alone in a foreign country and forced to work two jobs on top of school, but finding solace in your studies.

Now, as you hit send on your response to Toto Wolff, all of your struggles were going to pay off.

Not long after, you were invited to formally meet the team and sign all the necessary paperwork in the beginning of the offseason. You made the drive to Brackley and smoothed your power suit before entering the team’s technology center. A composed receptionist took your name before guiding you down the halls lined with moments and memorabilia from team history and leaving you in front of a door with a steel “Toto Wolff” nameplate on it.

You took a moment to collect yourself and rapped your knuckles against the solid wooden door, turning the handle when a deep accented voice from within the office told you to enter. The Austrian, who painted an imposing picture behind his desk, rose to greet you with a firm handshake. You quickly realized that he was tall and fit and, despite how hard you tried to keep your mind professional, extremely handsome.

“Dr. Verstappen, it’s great to finally meet you,” Toto motioned for you to sit down across the desk from him.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wolff. I am so grateful for this opportunity.”

“The pleasure is ours. We are very excited to have you onboard this coming season. And, please, call me Toto.”

“Then you must call me Y/N. And while we’re on the topic of names, I’m sure you’ve noticed mine.”

Toto leaned back in his leather chair, “a funny coincidence to be sure. I hope that doesn’t mean you cheer for Red Bull.”

You hid a wince at his joking tone, “about that … it’s not exactly a coincidence. Max Verstappen is my brother. Half-brother if you want to get technical.”

You continue as you see him about to speak, “let me assure you that this will have no negative impact on my work with you. If anything, it will make me work harder towards the team’s success. I don’t exactly go around making this public knowledge, but my childhood was not the best and I haven’t spoken to my brother or my father since I first moved out at 18. They never supported me or showed that they cared about me. I’m doing this for myself. I’m going to help Mercedes win to prove them wrong.”

Your heart pounded out of your chest as Toto impassively stared into your soul. “I believe you.” A breath you didn’t even realize you were holding rushed out in relief. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jos Verstappen and what you’ve told me does not exactly come as a surprise.”

“Thank you, Toto. I promise you won’t regret it. We’ll get Mercedes back on top.”

“I am counting on it. Welcome to the team.”

You spent the rest of the off-season working more often than not, applying the research your Doctorate was built on to the car and optimizing it as much as possible. You spent your days working closely with the engineering team and both Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, gathering as much data as possible before you flew out to pre-season testing. Your evenings were usually taken up by Toto, the both of you workaholics who stayed far past the time that everyone else had left, typically discussing strategy and your mutual loathing of Red Bull over dinner that was ordered into the office.

The attraction that you felt upon first meeting your boss grew more and more as you got to know him better. While his handsomeness certainly didn’t hurt, his intelligence and passion truly did it for you. His age didn’t bother you — boys your age certainly left something to be desired — but you refused to be known as the woman who slept her way to the top (despite how unfair and inaccurate that would be) in a heavily male dominated field. So you used all your willpower to stay professional and prayed that Toto didn’t notice when you would gaze at his lips or his forearms or his chest in that famous button up shirt for a bit longer than strictly appropriate.

There was no way that Toto Wolff could possibly reciprocate your feelings so your resolved to keep them tightly bottled up.

He had a different idea.

You were in Toto’s office to mark your last dinner before flying to Bahrain for pre-season testing, lightly talking over a bottle of wine, when he abruptly set down his glass and looked resolutely down at you. “Tell me if I’ve misread the situation,” he pushed your plates to the side, uncaring, as he reached out to pull you across the desk and towards him.

You seized up in shock but melted as he crashed his lips to yours.

You gathered what little common sense you had remaining to detach yourself from him, “Toto, we can’t.”

His eyes went guarded, “Do you not feel the same way?”

“No but-“

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my boss! Because even the thought of this is unprofessional! Because it can ruin both of us!”

“But you want this.” He said it as a statement.

“Of course I do,” you deflate. “But we can’t-“

“And I want this too. I want you. You are strikingly intelligent and incredibly beautiful. We are both consenting adults and the team does not have a fraternization policy. There is no reason we must suffer in restraint.”

He takes both of your hands, engulfing then with his large ones before continuing, “you have been taking care of yourself for so long. Now, let me take care of you.”

You were extremely thankful the next morning that you accepted Toto’s offer to join him on his private jet instead of flying commercial charter with the rest of the team. At least this way he had time to drop you off at your apartment so you could pick up your luggage on the way to the airport without having to rush.

The other perks were pretty nice too. If you had told your younger self that you would be joining the Mile High Club with Toto Wolff on a private jet heading to Bahrain for the start of the Formula 1 season, you would have laughed in your own face (and then tried to work out the physics of how you time traveled to see your younger self in the first place).

Once in Bahrain, you jumped into the beautiful chaos that is the F1 season head first. Mercedes started off on a much higher note than last year and the mood around the garage remained light as the team kept the momentum going. It quickly became common to see 1-2 Mercedes finishes or at the very least both Mercedes drivers on the podium as the optimized car and your unorthodox strategies gave them the extra edge.

You and Toto tried to steal as many moments together as you could away from the hurricane of work that sometimes swallowed you up. Soon, neither of you particularly trying to keep your progressing relationship a secret, the rest of the team became aware that you were together. Despite your initial fears of backlash, you were met with support and the worst you got from the team was gentle teasing about managing to tame the infamous Toto Wolff.

As the season unfurled, neither your father nor brother had noticed you working for their rival. While photos of you with Toto, your drivers, and generally around the team did circulate, neither of them made the connection between the woman in Mercedes gear and the daughter and sister they cut off years ago. You ignored the traitorous pang in your heart every time Max or Jos’ eyes glossed over you, not realizing who they were looking at.

Or at least they didn’t until the FIA Prize Giving ceremony.

Toto was attending to receive the Constructors’ Championship trophy while your drivers collected their respective Drivers’ Championship and second-place trophies and you had come along as his date. While making the rounds on Toto’s arm at the gala after the ceremony, Max happened to overhear Toto introducing you to an acquaintance and your brother’s head snapped up at the sound of your name.

Max stared at the woman with Toto. It couldn’t be … but she had the same face shape and nose shape and hair color he remembered. His feet moved towards you before he could help himself, “Y/N?”

You heard the familiar voice interject from behind you and steeled yourself before turning around, “Max.”

“Is it really you?”

“Last time I checked.”

Toto had managed to excuse himself from his conversation and joined the awkward reunion between the estranged Verstappen siblings.

“Verstappen,” he nodded a curt greeting.

Your brother paused, looking between you and Toto, “wait-wait. You and him? You’re together?”

“For a while now,” you gained some satisfaction from the mix of emotions, none of them pleasant, that crossed Max’s face. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier. I mean, Toto and I did only meet because I work for Mercedes. I’ve been around the paddock every race.”

You didn’t notice the approach of your father until you looked at Max’s wide eyes frozen on someone behind you.

“How dare you! To go against your own family? To actively work against your brother?”

“Hello, father. How are you? I’ve been great! It’s only been a little under a decade since I’ve heard from you.”

“Why you little who-”

Toto stepped in front of you before your father could finish what was sure to be a very complementary sentence, “Verstappen, I would stop it right there if I was you.”

“I always knew Y/N was an embarrassment but even I didn’t expect for her to become a gold digger going after men her father’s age.”

Toto came to your rescue once again, “she’s far from a gold digger. Y/N is Mercedes’ Executive Engineer and Strategist. She’s a large reason why we beat your son all season long.”

“What she is,” Jos spit out, “is a shame to the Verstappen name.”

Toto resolutely held you close, “then it’s a good thing she won’t be a Verstappen for much longer.”

Taking the opportunity, you raised your entwined hands to show off the diamond ring that graced your ring finger since Toto took you on vacation to the Seychelles and surprised you with a beautiful proposal a week ago.

“Max, Jos … we’ll be sure not to invite you to the wedding.”

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precious-little-scoundrel · 11 months

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As Requested: The Birth of Jesse and Ella

From the Sarge and lil Mama Universe

Warnings: pretty darn fluffy and sweet with the exception of descriptions of birth and labor, along with what might be considered disturbing inclusions of period typical insensitivity towards women’s wishes during labor and mention of a husband stitch

Word Count: 5k…a blurb was requested, well, uh, sorry about that

With excerpts from:

October, 1958 Memphis

Birth was awful, Elaine had always heard it, been cautioned of it, had the warning dumped like ice water on her motherly ambitions. You want a lotta kids? -just wait till you have to push a single one out. Elaine had expected it to hurt worse than anything she ever imagined but somehow, she thought it would feel more natural than this.

The pain was terrifyingly foreign and without a single cessation to get on top of it, the contractions put broken bones and smashed flesh to shame, and the helpless urge to do something was a floundering and aimless desperation that filled her with anxiety so strong she could barely breathe from it. The nurse cupping the gas mask to her face smiled down assuringly and Elaine hated her for it, the gal was so sure all would be well when everything in Elaine’s body rebelled against the drugged misery, the flat back, stirrup strapped contortion the doctor had locked her body in and left her at.

She thought it would at least feel natural. Like pulling a tooth. Like taking a man. Like all the other painful rites of passage that women surmounted generation after generation.

But now, near puking from pain and cuffed like a psych prisoner to the bed, no distraction save the flicker off the fluorescent bulbs above her, Elaine felt a wrongness and a betrayal she never expected.

She’d been so agreeable to going to the hospital, never thought otherwise. The army had been accommodating enough to let them return to Memphis and everything, and here she lay giving birth in the same ward she was born in. It should have been sweet. She had assumed it would be and it had been non negotiable with Elvis, things were to be done properly for his babies, and she had no comparison to cause her to object.

Elvis lost his brother in a twin birth, a home birth, and nearly his mama too. Things had to be done properly. What else was his money for?

Elaine hadn’t thought to object. What else was there? Primitive squatting in the woods somewhere? She was a decent, suburban girl, she had passed through a successive graduation of establishments throughout her life, preschools and proms and community services and now she was at St. Joseph’s pushing out her first child in a condoned, sterile, proper facility. Elvis, cheated of such all American properness by his upbringing, often praised her teasingly for being “such an upstandin’ lil citizen”.

Somehow the pride didn’t manage to fill her this time. Just the wrongness of it all. She tried to think of Elvis in those first hours, how anxious he must be having been kept out of the room, how happy she’d make him by presenting two healthy children at the end of her feminine ordeal. She refused to accept the thought for anything going wrong. Women were made for this, and she had assumed a miraculous sort of sustenance and wisdom were given them during.

Laying rigid and wracked with pain on scratchy white sheets -Elaine had never felt so alone, not a shred of Divine motivation or husbandly encouragement left in her exhausted heart. Becoming frantic as the ordeal wore on, she found herself begging for some assurance, more than those spinster nurses and bored physicians could provide her. She begged for her mama, she begged for Dodger who had told her they’d do nothing more than torture her “in that big ole place.”

No visitors are allowed, Mrs. Presley -she was denied each time.

Dodger, as usual, had been right. And Elaine demanded she be let in. She was sure that her husband and his grandma had stayed in the waiting room, they weren’t far.

Bring Minnie Mae in -she was Elaine Presley, wife of Memphis’ own Elvis Presley, and if they denied her she’d ruin their hospital's name.

Bring her Dodger, she needed Dodger.

Dodger came in, in low, slung-back heels and a dress that was fashionable three decades ago, wrinkled bony hands and thin, hard set mouth. Elaine thought she’d seen an Angel.

“What do you want?” Dodger grunted down at her.

Elaine whimpered and shook her head, entirely unsure, she’d just wanted comfort or direction. “I thought you’d know what to do.” she explained in a wheeze.

“You push ‘em out.”

“I can’t.” Elaine sobbed, she physically didn’t feel capable of doing anything but enduring. She really had thought she’d be able to participate in her own delivery.

“What’s gonna make ya?” Dodger asked.

“I can’t do anything like this.” Elaine cried, yanking at her restraints.

“Wanna stand up?”

Elaine was startled at the suggestion and through the fog of pain and gas it sounded like a rebellion of sorts. She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“You ever shit layin’ down?” Dodger put it ever so delicately in clearer, enlightening terms. “No one can ‘nless they got the runs. Baby’s head ain’t no runs, get up.”

Dodger had yanked the straps off and threatened to use the forceps on the objecting nurse. She stood Elaine up with a yank to the girl's arms and spun her round till she was facing the bed, feet spread apart and hands on the bed, head hanging low and her back heaving in breaths now the position allowed her to breath. She’d taken Elvis this way a hundred times, nothing to it -you just hang your head and tilt your hips and breathe through it till the cock didn’t feel so big.

This she knew. “Ok, ok, it is better.” she agreed even as a scream tore out of her at the burning stretch down below.

That stretch had been Jesse’s head, although in the midst of agony and Bureaucratic chaos, Elaine didn’t know anything beyond fiery stretching and a gush down her legs. His little noggin almost hit the floor he slid out so lanky and tiny, no sooner had she register a modicum of relief from passing her first child than the doctor berated her.

“Almost hit his head, this is why we labor in beds.” he had said and she could have gnawed his balding head off his scrawny neck for using the word “we” when he’d never felt or ever would feel what she had just endured. “She’s torn, a lot actually, going to be a mess to clean up later but I guess it will help the next one.”

They took Jesse and they wiped him clean as his first cries sounded somewhere behind his mama, Dodger’s hand still pressed firmly to her lower back as Ella used his newfound vacancy to make an effort herself. Elaine struggled and twisted, trying to catch sight of her son.

“I want my baby.” she gasped, “Y’all give me my baby.” she stood straight with an effort that even Dodger tried to prevent. “I want my baby!”

“You can’t hold him now-“

“Give him to me-“

“Elaine honey,” Dodger shushed as gently as the old bird knew how, “you’re too weak, can’t push and hold. Let ‘em put him on the bed. Put him there, right in front of ya, yeah, that’s it, so you can see him. Just do it, ya pinstriped idiot, it’s her kid, ain’t it?”

When the nurse laid Jesse down on the sheets, he was a dark haired, swaddled little thing in a bloody towel. Tiny but not so shrimpy for a twin, he was red and purple all over with the puffiest little face and the juiciest little lips and a tiny nose and eyes that squinted shut in tears. His cord was still attached to her, hanging off the bed between her legs, the tether not yet cut. Elaine felt it to be the specialist moment in the world, that one right then.

Oh it’s an unaccountable thing, that rush of gratitude and relief when your first born is laid on you. Violent love surges after it, quick as a tidal wave, as a tiny hand still covered in your blood pats your skin to learn you from the outside this time, the only person who’s ever done it opposite from all others. It's immeasurable the strength that frail little being gives you, to push once more, to bring out another life after it, a twin to reunite the Trinity.

“My son” Elaine acknowledged the gift through the agony, her sweaty forehead against his fuzzy one, watching his brave little face take in the lights and sounds and pain of this life she’d given him with a wonder that steeled her as she braced and pushed again.

Ella was easier, in the way someone at the brink of their worst feels no exacerbation of their agony. It was every bit as bad and every bit as tiring, doubly so with one already done, but this time Jesse lay there with an oxygen cannula taped to his fuzzy cheek and watched his mama huff and grimace above him, her hips cradled by Dodger’s boney hands, and in between the increasing spams, Elaine gasped adorations and babbled welcomes to him. After a short time Jesse snoozed in his little cacoon, and his peacefulness was more calming than any breath coaching the staff could give her. She matched her breaths to the rise and fall of his tiny chest and soon enough when she felt between her legs, there was the furry little head of his sister.

This time the doctor was prepared and had a nurse knelt to catch Elvis’ Presley second child. Little Ella came out the opposite of Jesse, no trouble at all with her petite head but a decent belly and buttox in the little girl gave Elaine a brief bit of grief before she popped out entirely.

Ella may have been caught in the safe hands of a registered nurse but Elaine had no such luck. No sooner was the rush over and her impediments pushed out of her body than she staggered backwards and landed flat on the floor, her legs giving out. Dodger’s shins caught the back of her head and saved her from splitting her skull on the tile but it was a brutal jarring nonetheless and it cemented a terrified horror where Elaine felt that she was entirely neglected in a room full of people sworn to help her.

Dodger, bless her, cursed up a storm at the accident and knelt beside the poor girl, doing her best to gather Elaine up as blood and fluids gushed freely between her legs.

Elaine felt like sobbing. Soon she fully was and remained so as the Doctor and two nurses hefted her onto the bed as gingerly as they could, profusely apologizing to Mr. Presley’s new wife. Jesse was placed on her chest and Ella, after having the cord snipped and washed, bundled and had her foot stamped, was brought over, too. Elaine laid there on her back again, eighteen hours after she had first begun and did her best to hold them as the sugar crash and blood loss made her teeth chatter and limbs tremble.

“A healthy five pounds both of them,” the doctor beamed with the satisfaction of a man who had accomplished a hard day’s work, “although the boy has a couple points on the girl.”

They were perfect, they were positively perfect, that’s what Elaine tried her best to focus on as her bearings came back to her and tiredness drug her limbs down. They were perfect and they were here. “Dodger,” she addressed Grandma in a thin voice, not even bothering to send her request to the staff, “would you go tell Elvis they’re here? Tell him they’re perfect.”

“He can’t come in yet, dear!” The head nurse protested, knowing the mulish young man would be forcing entry as soon as he heard.

“Why not? It’s over.” Elaine sighed.

“We’ve got to clean you up!” The nurse was scandalized, “He mustn’t see you all disheveled like this, it can very negatively effect a man, seeing his wife rumpled and brutalized by the birthing process. It's ended some marriages.” She warned and then added, “And you must be stitched first.”

“Then could we please -do it?” Elaine asked, “I’d like to see my husband and I’d like him not to worry any longer.”

“Y’all clean her up,” Dodger motioned, “and I’ll go fetch him.”

They were applying ice towels to her swollen eyes to reduce the evidence of weeping when she left. They sat Elaine up and they checked her pulse and blood pressure and her temperature. All was well, or as well as could be hoped. All except down south with her house, Elaine chewed her lip anxiously and clutched little Jesse harder for comfort as the doctor inspected her, rather like Elvis had done when proposing. Except Elvis was always so tender and he worked his touches up from gentle to firm, never went right in and spread torn petals apart without a care. Elaine bit her lip and figured she’d been awful enough to the staff, harsh and stubborn, a rebel in so many ways and now her ordeal was over, it would be best to resume the proper attitude she’d been taught.

So she was meek, and she was obliging and grateful, and she tiredly agreed when the doctor said she’d need stitches, the same as any other tear to the flesh. And when, lamp beaming at her nether regions and needle in hand, the doctor told her he was going to add one extra little stitch for her husband's enjoyment, Elaine assumed it was a medical formality. After all, he didn’t ask if he could, he said he was going to, and doctors only do what doctors must. She had her babies now, and anything required to have more must be done.

Sat up on stitched and taut flesh, pillows stuffed behind her back and her face scrubbed into immaculate freshness, Elaine put on her widest smile for Elvis, not a hard thing to do with the gifts in her arms. It turned fully genuine as her man burst through the door only to stall and moderate his intensity the minute he realized he had arrived. Elvis looked bewildered, eyes wide as saucers and his long legs stumbling to a halt as the door thudded behind him in Vernon’s face, assessing every bit of equipment inside and potential threat before his eyes landed on the bed that held his new family.

Elaine could hear his intake of breath from across the room and her grin now threatened to split her face.

“Those our babies?” he asked hoarsely with a shaking finger, not making a single move to come closer. Like this whole ordeal had him so shaken he didn’t know which way was up or down.

“Yeah baby, they’re ours.” Elaine had to force her smile closed to talk, marveling at his timidity, the awed look on his face and the reverent little shakes coursing up his body like he was about to go up Mount Sinai and meet God. “Come meet your children, Elvis.” she whispered, framing it in a way she hoped would remind him he too belonged in this room, he was head of them all, their protector, their provider and perhaps most importantly, the architect of the dream that brought them into being. “They wanna meet their daddy, keep lookin’ around and fussing like they know someone’s missing.”

He gave her a look of reproof for fibbing to spare his feelings before one of the babies came to their mother’s rescue and let out a pitiful, newborn wail. Elvis flinched at the sound, drawing back into himself for a brief moment before the cry was repeated and his instinct to soothe dominated his tentative fear.

“See, I told you!” Elaine grinned as she pulled down the blanket little Jesse was swaddled in and showed his puckered face.

Slowly, with light footfalls and a hand running along the bed for support, Elvis drew closer until he was beside them and Elaine saw his face light up with more overwhelmed joy than she’d ever seen on him before, just as his eyes filled with tears in an instant.

“Oh Laney,” he put his hand to his mouth unsteadily, “you done good mamas.”

She did her best to scoot her legs over without wincing and nodded to the vacated little space on the bed. “C’mon Elvis, they don’t bite. Not yet.” she whispered, casting a glance at the nurse who was peddling soundlessly in the far corner, back turned and utterly discreet, waiting if she were needed at any moment.

“I’m jus’ worried ‘bout breakin’ ‘em.” he confessed, gingerly sitting down beside her, his eyes never wavering in their metronome bounce from one child to the next and back. “They’re so little, so fragile lookin’ and -a-and they’re so pink, baby, look how pinks and fluffy they is.” Elaine thought his wide-eyed, rosebud mouthed awe was rather identical to the faces he was admiring and understood his shock, pretty things take the wind out of you. “I-I-I was so damn scared of touchin’ you, you’re so lil and gentle a-a-and they’re even littler!”

“I’ve never seen a more tender man, you’ve got fingers so delicate they could undo a knot in silk thread.” Elaine disagreed, “You should feel their cheeks, even softer than they look.”

Elvis swallowed hard, screwing up his courage before he raised his hand from where it had been wiping sweat off on his pants and brought it dried and shaking to gently run along the curve of Ella’s tiny face.

He little out a little gasping laugh. “Angels, they’re gen-u-ine angels.” He pronounced softly after rubbing his forefinger along Jesse’s tiny nose. “Ain’t nothin’ made me happier than I am right this minute.” he realized and Elaine’s heart clenched in gratification for the success of all her labor. “God took away one, gave me three back.” he huffed in a breath and realizing he needed a handkerchief, pulled his hand back, looking around in the white sheets like one would appear. The kindly nurse took pity and brought one over wordlessly, Elvis was a little shocked to find her present, not registering her existence in the room before, (as was she to meet Elvis Presley wordlessly with a proffered tissue) but he took it gratefully.

“Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Presley?” she asked after having given Elaine some water as Elvis still sat where he’d perched himself and stared like he was looking into a portal.

“C’mon daddy.” Elaine whispered, nudging his stiff leg with her foot, “they wanna meet their daddy.”

Elaine suggested Jesse be the one as he’d eaten most recently while Ella was having some trouble latching. The nurse took Jesse from his warm little cocoon at Elaine’s side, and brought him around the bed to his daddy, who carefully formed a cradle with his arms and the nurse deposited his son there.

“Yeah, give me my boy.” Elvis nodded through parched lips and shuddered as he felt the tiny weight of his child settle in his arms, tiny head cradled to his chest. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, head reared back and expression a little frozen, like he was either holding something very dangerous or something very good that could be taken back at anytime, “sorry bout all the racket in there.” he referred to his pounding heart right beneath Jesse’s pink ear, “S’just that I’m so glad to meet you. Been waitin’ so long.”

Elaine watched them happily, exhaustion and satisfaction turning her complex feelings into the most rudimentary emotions and thoughts. “We made these.” she marveled and thought she heard the nurse titter for a moment, “Does everyone say that?” She asked her with a laugh.

“Not uncommon.” The woman agreed bashfully, “Me and my man did. Couldn’t stop saying it.”

“Absolute miracle.” Elvis protested, growing bold enough the thumb as Jesse’s cheek as he held him, “We made ‘em alright, strangest thing, the way I’m holdin’ something that’s half me and half you!”

“Made duplicates just in case.” Elaine added her joke and they both laughed.

“Sweet Jesus I think he just cracked a smile.” Elvis’ laugh was suddenly cut short as he wheezed in fascination.

“Babies usually don’t smile until much later.“ the nurse soothed gently but Elvis interrupted with an adamant-

“-well it appears that my son is extra smart, ma’am.” He grinned down at his boy with an immense amount of pride at his good humor which reminded him of his pride in Elaine and his eyes flitted up to hers and locked there. “You know I love you, Tink, but I-I-I- d-don’t think you’ve got the vaguest notion h-h-how grateful I am to you right this minute. You’re makin’ dreams come true like a goddamn fairy. I-I-I can’t say enough I-I don’t got words for it I just -I’d die for you, girl, and you and our babies ain’t ever gonna want for nothin’, I swear it.”

Elaine had never trusted another human being more in her life than she trusted this young man sat on her bed, about as young and lost as herself but so determined that she hadn’t a single choice or doubt except to believe him.

Ella began to fuss and the nurse asked if she wanted to try feeding again, no doubt the baby girl was hungry and Elaine agreed. “Here, Mr. Presley, I’ll take the little boy so you can go.” she helpfully held out her arms but Elvis clutched his precious bundle like she was gonna take him permanently. Elaine was reminded of a story Miss Gladys used to tell her about baby Elvis and a prized sack of bananas.

“I-I-I don’t wanna give him.” Elvis settled for this moderate expression of his sentiments on the subject.

“But sir -your wife needs to nurse. I'm sure they’ll extend the visiting hours for you, no need to worry on that account.”

“Oh I’m not leavin’ for that ma’am.” he clarified breezily, “I hold eatin’ in mighty high regard and I’d like to see to it my daughter finds her footin’ in it, ya see.”

“But-“ the nurse was rather astounded at this simple logic and in torn loyalties she turned back to Mrs. Presley in concern “-wouldn’t you like some privacy, ma’am? We’ll have to…uncover you.”

Elaine looked at her a little puzzled before assuring softly, “I don’t mind, he’s seen me before.”

The nurse colored at this modest statement that spoke so much and Elvis wasn’t sure if she was taken aback at their comfortableness around each other or at the suggestion of The Elvis Presley and his little wife making babies. Half the nation were obsessed with what they did behind closed doors and Elvis eyed her suspiciously lest she turn into some sorta fascinated personage. She didn’t though, she allowed Jesse to remain with his father and, rather more delicately than necessary, helped Elaine with Ella’s latching.

There had been dribbles of milk that Elvis had seen before Elaine gave birth, but it was nothing like the profusion that poured out now, so much sustenance that Ella’s tiny throat made great gulping sounds as she drank. Elvis, much to the nurse’s horror, was fascinated by it and soon found his old boldness, scooting himself up till he was sat beside Elaine in the narrow bed and could support her elbow while watching. The nurse was made more uncomfortable when the new father took to whispering a thousand different thanks and endearments into his young wife’s ear, and sweet as it was, the aggressive smooches she answered him with were of the sort the nurse was usually of the assumption led to more. But not with this couple, they swapped affection easily, too easily, and shared sentiments and compared their two children for the next hour, pointing out features and guessing at characteristics until the nurse quietly took her leave, stumbling into a barricade of men outside waiting on their boss.

“You should sing to them.” Elaine suggested to him once she’d gone, when Jesse wouldn’t stop fussing when it was his time to burp. “They’ve heard it for nine months, worked with the kicks every time.” she recalled and Elvis smiled sheepishly in reminiscence that those little kicks he’d once poured his heart out to were now little souls laying in his arms with his features printed on them.

At the first swooping and softly sung words of ‘My Father’s House’ by their daddy both babies stilled and their little slits of eyes searched restlessly until they found his face and they stayed staring at him until their violet, paper thin eyelids fluttered closed in sleep.

————————————————-

|| Excerpt from Mrs. Presley and Other Living Martyrs:||

“There was a narrow window in the door he’d rather uh, rudely let slam behind him,” Billy Smith would later recall with a smile, “and you best believe the whole lot of us were pressed up to it trying to get a glimpse of them inside. We were all real excited about the babies and we knew Elaine was a champ but it’s one thing to think about it and it’s another for her to do it and be alright after. We were all worried for her, last time we’d been in this hospital it had been with Gladys. So we were all crowding the window and Vernon and Mr. Phipps were actin’ like teenagers with their elbows jabbin’ at each other for space but this one time the grandpas seemed to be actually jokin’ about it. Granny tried gettin’ us to leave ‘em be but it wasn’t like we were disturbin’ them none, they didn’t mind us one bit and it was the sweetest thing watchin’ them pass a baby back and forth and they were gigglin’ so much one minute then cryin’ the next. EP was an absolute mess, he was so happy. They looked like a couple of kids clutchin’ a candy haul they stole and figured someone was gonna come along and say they were too young for ‘em and had to give ‘em up. Just two kids really, two kids with a couple of babies they’d made. Not sure they’d ever had such a normal moment in their lives, not since he got famous, at least. They stayed like that for a couple of hours ‘till Elvis realized he could have some fun introducin’ his new kids and so he came out the door holding little Jesse above his head like he was the damn Prince of Memphis. The whole hallway was jam packed with folks who were visiting their hospitalized relatives, loitering staff, all sorts, everybody havin’ heard she was here delivering, and the whole place erupted when he brought the baby out, said that him and his sister were well and Miss Elaine was in fine shape. That applause must’ve been real gratifying for Mrs. Presley.”

Ten days were encouraged for the new mother to stay in the hospital but after five Elaine found herself anxious and uncomfortable away from her home and she begged Elvis to make the staff let her come home.

“Elvis was never more besotted with Elaine than when she was pregnant, and it only got worse when she’d just popped out a kid and was holding it and asking for something.” Joe Esposita wrote, “She talked him into making them send some staff to Graceland and letting her out early, and she swore she’d let him carry her up and down any stairs for the next week. So, after he made her sign a drink coaster that said as much, he went and charmed the administrator into sparing a doctor and four nurses to come live at Graceland for 10 days. We later learned the staff had flipped coins to see who got to go, everyone was so eager to see the famous couple up close. ”

Five days after delivering, Elaine got her wish and was wheeled out of the maternity ward in a wheel chair and down the hall to the elevator, a pristine and glamorous figure with a baby swaddled in her arms as her handsome husband strode by her side, wearing his uniform on leave as suggested by the Colonel, and carrying a precious bundle himself.

In “TLC: The Presley Way” -Marie Presley’s documentary of her family’s life- Ella recounted having often heard from her mother the story of Elvis preparing her to leave for home.

Ella recounted: “She would often tell me about how daddy had come up to the room with all these bags. He’d already brought so much stuff over during her stay, they had to haul literal baskets full of possessions and gifts and stuffed animals out of her ward back to Graceland when they moved out, it had been like a hotel stay, collecting so much. But he did come up that day with these pretty pink bags and he was so excited, he tore the tissue paper out himself and showed her this absurdly fluffy white coat he’d bought. It was way too heavy for October but it was a little chilly out and it gave her the perfect excuse to wear it. It was made out of arctic foxes and was the fluffiest, most expensive, whitest thing you’ve ever seen and it hid her swollen figure perfectly, made her look like an angel in the press pictures. Mama said he also brought a little makeup kit, and there was hairspray and curlers and combs in the other bag, and daddy sat on her hospital bed while she was in a chair and he carefully painted her face. She always loved telling about how sweet and careful he was about her image, she said she had felt very humiliated and out of control during the labor, and it was like he was putting her back together, making her familiar to herself again, crafting some dignity back. And -you’ve seen the pictures, she’s perfection, her makeup is flawless and he had swooped her hair back from her face so she’s glowing. Even tied it back with that little ribbon, it’s just so much, I mean -she looks like a doll carrying out smaller dollies from the hospital. And of course later the female press would slam her for making something as hard as birth and children look like dollhouse props but like a lot of things, they didn’t realize it came from love. It came from daddy caring about how she felt, how she wanted to be presented, they both had a lot of pride and were complementary in that way. She had just delivered twins and was about to meet half of Memphis on the curb before going home. Can you really blame her for letting her husband make her up? Can you blame him for pouring out his pride in what she’d done through his art?”

Along with tender care and as much provision for her comfort as possible, it would be Elvis Presley’s last gift to his wife before he left for Germany less than two weeks later.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

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@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

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dontexpectmuch · 8 months

Text

part 4 - [Lost in Madrid]

author note; btw for those who dont know me. im a whore for angsty fics w no happy ending 🤭 just for ur information hehehehe,, hope you enjoy this part, mwah mwah

- did not proofread!

series.masterlist

shit, you should have gone to the toilet one last time before leaving, your nerves messing with your stomach in an uncomfortable way. your hands feel clammy, getting warmer the longer you hold the bouquet of flowers.

you don’t even know why you feel so nervous, it’s not like you’re meeting a friends [yuck] parent for the first time. you try to reason with it by telling yourself that you simply do not want to be annoyed by judes presence in front of his mother [yeah sure], you actually want to meet her.

taking one last breath, trying to stay calm, you knock on the door and put on your best smile you could muster, not wanting to come off as rude.

you hear plates cling and metallic utensils fall down, before the door is opened abruptly by none other than jude himself. he looks out of breath, chest heaving up and down, you note, but he also looks good [too good, yes you admit].

black baggy pants, an oversized grey shirt and a necklace in the middle of his chest on top of it, his face adoring a smile.

“already in love with me?” he greets you, smirking as he leans against the door frame.

you roll your eyes, turning around to just leave. you can’t even take one step as you feel judes hand closing around your upper arm, [unfortunately] halting you movements.

he laughs, pulling you inside and telling you where to put your shoes, “mum’s been cooking all day.” he tells you, making you follow him to the kitchen.

your eyes look around, the apartment is beautiful, you think, nice view over the city from the living room, high ceilings and a homey feeling greeting you as you step into the living room slash kitchen area, the smell of fresh food finding its way to your nose.

denise calls your name as she sees you walk in, drying her hands on her apron to invite you to a hug which you gladly accept.

“these are for you.” you take a step back to get the flowers from judes hands, handing them to his mother who smiles at you widely.

“you didn’t have to, honey!” she lifts them up to her nose, smelling them. “they are wonderful, thank you.”

“just as wonderful as you are, denise.” you genuinely say back, watching her chuckle as she moves back to the kitchen to find a vase.

“just as wonderful as you are.” jude mocks you, his face near your ear to keep it between you guys.

without looking at him, you hit his chest [should’ve been his face], making him choke on his spit.

he coughs roughly, hand on your shoulder to stabilize himself, “dude, that’s mean!”

“you’re mean!” you draw your eyebrows together and decide to move to the kitchen to see if you could help.

however it seems like denise already prepared everything for dinner, the only thing left is to sit down and enjoy it together, which you do.

the room is filled with laughter and conversations about various topics, creating a warm atmosphere. even though you haven’t noticed it so far, the feeling of eating together as a family is truly one thing that you have missed since you’ve been in madrid, filling your heart with a sense of peace. you wouldn’t tell jude about [he would never live that down], but you are quite thankful for meeting him, him granting you this opportunity of feeling familiarity in a foreign country.

“how long until you finish university?” denise asks, taking a sip of her drink.

you swallow your food, “well, after my internship it might take around eight weeks to get the results.” you hum, organizing your thoughts, “afterwards everything goes pretty fast, i would have to hold a presentation, explain and defend my results and own theories. after that i will hopefully graduate.”

her eyes widen, “that’s a lot, no?”

jude speaks up as well, body leaning back against his chair, “that takes so long, no wonder you’ve become a grandma-“

he suddenly yells, almost jumping out of his seat, “ow! guys no need to attack me from both sides!”

“deserved.” you roll your eyes, sweetly smiling at denise who returns the gesture, asking you if you would like to eat some more food.

“yes, please! everything tastes amazing, denise. thank you so much.” you hand her your plate, watching her get up to move to the kitchen.

“my legs hurt.” jude whines from beside you, making you scoff.

“shouldn’t have been so rude, then.”

“how am i supposed to know that i would get attacked from both sides! my legs are very important, y’know!” his voice gets louder, body leaning towards you.

denise comes back, hand your plate back to, “doesn’t mean that you can say rubbish to our guest.” she comes to your aid, smiling at you.

“wow, you two really work against me, eh?”

“yes.” denise and you say at the same time, focusing on the food in front of you.

judes whining is heard every now and then throughout the dinner, however the two of you decide to ignore him and focus on your pleasant conversation. you help her with the dishes afterwards, while jude takes out the trash. [obviously complaining about how he always has to do the hatd work, you continue to ignore him.]

“i heard that you live close-by.” denise continues your conversation as you sit down on the couch in the living room, half empty cup of tea in your hand.

you nod, [wishing wouldn’t have to] “jude told me that you guys live down the street after we met at the grocery store.”

“best thing to ever happen to you.” you hear judes [attra-, annoying!] voice from behind you, his hands now resting on the couchs back behind you.

“mh, sure.”

denise laughs at you two, getting up to put her cup back. you follow suit, also getting ready to leave as you have seen that it has been already two hours since you came. you hug denise, thanking her for the food and kind hospitality, and also telling her to visit you sometime.

jude walks to the front door with you, watching you put on your shoes, “why are you leaving already?”

you pause, looking up, “eh, it’s getting late?”

you finish putting on your shoes, grab your bag and move to open the door. jude does the same, your hands now meeting on the doorknob, making you pause your actions. you quickly pull back, clearing your throat as you watch him open the door for you.

“want me to walk you home?” his voice is low, making the hair on your neck stand up. [because it’s annoying, nothing more.]

you shake your head, stepping outside, “‘m meeting a friend.”

“this late?” he crosses his arms in front of his chest, once again leaning against the doorframe.

frowning, you stem your hands on your hips, “pardon? who are you again?”

“your bestest best friend?” jude copies your attitude, smirking as he sees your eyes roll.

“‘m going.” your start to walk away, putting an end to this [ridiculous] conversation.

“text me when you’re home! and don’t stay out for too long!” he calls after you.

“yes, mom!” you call back, not bothering to turn around to look at his [handso-, no, stupid] face.

“but what is so wrong of being friends with him?” amanda asks, setting her glass of wine down.

music is heard through the box that was standing on the coffee table, filling the room quietly. the moon shines through the windows, amandas chain led-lights dimmed down, a comfortable vibe hovering within the room.

you sigh, leaning your head back with your eyes closed. fuck, you don’t even know why you’re so against it.

“i just,” you try to gather your thoughts, taking a sip from the glass, “i won’t be here for long, y’know? i don’t want to bond with someone like that only to never see them ever again.”

amanda chuckles, patting your knee softly, “mija, why wouldn’t you guys see each other again? that doesn’t make sense.”

“it does!” you try to defend yourself, sitting up, “i have to focus on my studies, afterwards get a job. i won’t be able to meet him in madrid whenever i miss him.”

“so you admit that you like him?” she teases you, nudging your foot with hers.

you groan, [sadly] admitting that you actually grew to enjoy his presence in the past month.

“i mean, he is annoying, loud, rude and calls me grandma, pushes me away to cheat when we race, throws his sweaty towel at me, and water too, and he-“

amanda cuts you off, telling you to get to the point.

“he, i don’t even know, he is actually fun to be around. being friends with him, getting used to his presence isn’t hard, it almost came naturally.” you explain, pulling your knees to your chest to rest your chin on them.

“but why be so upset about something that hasn’t happened yet?” amanda asks, sipping on her wine. her eyes are on you, and even though it’s the rooms lights are dimmed, you can still see the warmth seep through them, a sense of comfort washing over you.

“but it will happen, ‘manda.” you know that you are being unnecessarily pessimistic, but you can’t help it. “i don’t want to get attached only for it to break my heart into pieces.”

she sighs, “what will you do then?”

you shrug, not so sure yourself. you could create a certain distance between you and him, trying to lose some attachment that you [unfortunately, you would never tell him] have. but that wouldn’t be fair to jude, either. he didn’t to anything wrong. how would you explain that to him?

‘hey, i actually quite like being around you and being friends with you, but i don’t want to get used to you because i know that it will break my heart, yeah, so, bye!’? you scoff at this thought, head starting to hurt as you try to come up with different explanations.

amada gets up to go to the bathroom, hand on your shoulder as a sign of comfort as she passes by.

now that you are alone, you put your forehead against your knees, deeply exhaling. the music in the background helps as a distraction from your thoughts, though this sound of it gets interrupted by your phone. a new notification. you don’t bother to check who it is - your heart starts to beat fast as you think of someone who it might be. but you don’t lift your head, wanting to be left alone during your [pitiful] situation.

you have never had this problem before. you loved to meet people whenever you travel, creating memories with them and cherishing those whenever you think about it. this situation, everything about jude is just weird, you don’t know [or do you?] why he is such a big concern of yours, as if you actually are the moon, turning i orbits around its sun, in this case, jude. you should be friends with him, enjoy the time the two of you have left and then leave madrid, letting him be a new, nice memory.

“still thinking ’bout it?” amandas voice pulls you out of your thoughts, eyes now focusing on her.

you nod, sighing. it seems like it is the only thing left to do for you, sighing and hopelessly waiting around, though you are not sure for what exactly.

“do you like him?” she asks, filling her glass with some more wine before taking a sip.

“well, yeah. i think we’re friends.” you reply, feeling weird [like betraying yourself] when actually admitting that you think of jude as a friend.

she laughs, shaking her head, “no, no, i meant like, do you like like him?”

“no!” you tell her [yeah sure], quite offended that she would think that you would fall for someone like jude [you would].

“then why are you so sad about it?”

“don’t know, don’t wanna talk about it, please.” you lay down on the couch, looking up the ceiling.

your phone rings again, this time thrice in a row. you sigh while rolling your eyes, lazily lifting it up to look at who has been bothering you for the last few minutes.

NEW NOTIFICATION

[from; Jude Bellingham]: four new messages.

you immediately sit up, eyes wide. fuck, why is he texting you right now? you don’t have the nerve to talk to him right now [you always do].

“is it him?” amanda asks, looking up from her won phones display, smirking.

“yeah.” you mumble, unsure of what to do. you shouldn’t let him wait, should you? that’s not very nice, maybe it’s an emergency?

amanda speaks up again, “well, answer him, chica! why the hesitation?”

“don’t know.” you shrug, laying down again.

you hear amanda sigh, but she doesn’t comment on anything anymore, seemingly giving up on the situation. you take a deep breath while unlocking your phone, heart beating against your chest.

[from; Jude Bellingham]: r u home yet?

[from; Jude Bellingham]: dk what u did but mum still talks abt u

[from; Jude Bellingham]: u ok?? wya?

[from; Jude Bellingham]: txt me when ur home

putting your phone back down, you sigh, head between your hands. you don’t understand why his texts make you feel so, how should you describe it, anxious? he doesn’t do anything wrong, he is just trying to be a good friend, you should appreciate it instead of panicking.

groaning, you get up, taking your now empty glass to put it into the dishwasher in amandas kitchen.

“you leavin’?” amanda asks you, still seated on the couch, her head turned towards you.

you nod, tiredly rubbing your eyes as you walk back to kiss her cheek as a goodbye, “thank you for today.”

she smiles, her hand resting in your cheek in a comforting manner, “text me when you’re home, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

you put on your shoes, tell her goodbye one last tome before leaving her home, the soft breeze of the night welcoming you. it isn’t cold, you don’t have to wear a jacket, but somehow you can’t help but cross your arms as you begin to walk home. the night is still young, you hear people shouting and talking amongst themselves down the street, music accompanying their conversations.

the walk back doesn’t take long, you arrive just about fifteen minutes later as you open the door to the building, sighing as you see the stairs in front of you.

[to; Jude Bellingham]: just arrived home

[to; Jude Bellingham]: what can i say, moms like me :)

you lay down in your bed, night routine done and ready to sleep. you try to concentrate on your breathing, laying still on your back as a contrast to the chaos going on in your head, not letting you rest properly.

“tsk,” you try to lay on your left side, back now facing your phone on the nightstand, “stupid stuff.”

as soon as you hear your phone vibrate you immediately turn around, the brightness of your display hurting your eyes.

[from; Jude Bellingham]: cool cool

you move to type an answer, though a new message from him comes in,

[from; Jude Bellingham]: were u w dk what his name was?

rolling your eyes, you can’t help but smile at his [cu-, stupid] text.

[to; Jude Bellingham]: his name is lorenzo

[from; Jude Bellingham]: basic ass name

[to; Jude Bellingham]: no i was at amandas

[from; Jude Bellingham]: shouldn’t u be at sleep rn? grandmas should go to bed early

oh you can practically hear jude giggling at his own text, him finding joy in reminding you that you are older than him. you catch yourself stupidly smiling at his text and clear your throat, sitting up properly before texting back.

[to; Jude Bellingham]: was abt to but u texted me

[from; Jude Bellingham]: okok sry

[from; Jude Bellingham]: good night

[from; Jude Bellingham]: sweet dreams (of me)

[to; Jude Bellingham]: id rather choke

[to; Jude Bellingham]: good night :)

fuck.

———————————————————

“guys, please don’t forget to finish writing your team report for next week, ask for help if you need to, please.” you remind your students as they walk out of the room, smiling your way as they tell you goodbye.

you turn around to pack your own things, a knock on the door catching your attention.

“hola, señorita.” lorenzo greets you, smile wide and cheeks rosy, probably from the heat outside.

he walks up to you, kissing your cheek as a greeting before leaning against your desk, watching you as you continue to pack your bag.

“how can i help you, señor?” you say, happy to see your friend.

it has been a while since you last saw him, getting caught up in work and writing your thesis, and well, other people.

“are we walking home today?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, his eyes staring at yours.

“you see-“

“ah! there you are!” judes voice appears by the door, cutting you off.

you roll your eyes, trying to fight of a smile. he always greets you loudly when he picks you up to walk to the open field together, comfortable banter hovering between you two on tour walk there.

“i have a practical session afterwards, sorry.” you point towards jude, who is still standing by the door, eyes focusing on the guy next to you.

poor lorenzo, you think, he didn’t do anything wrong, yet jude always finds way to hate on him, comparing the two of them. [he somehow is always the better one]

“i see.” lorenzo looks at jude, then he turns back to you, kissing you on the cheek as a goodbye before leaving the room.

jude walks inside, rolling his eyes as he points at the direction lorenzo went, “what is his problem?”

your eyebrows pull together, “eh, nothing?”

you sling your bag on your shoulder, walking out of the room with jude following you, “think you gonna score today?”

jude laughs, scratching his cheek, “i will, if you stop directing your negativity towards me.”

offended, you look up at him, walking through the tunnel that leads to the field, “what’s that supposed to mean? i don’t even have the time to look at you.” [that’s a lie, you catch yourself following him around the field more than you’d like to admit]

“you should, though, i am very exciting to watch.” jude blinks - in his case winks - down at you, putting his bag down next to your seat.

you hum, not wanting to ket him now that he’s right, taking a seat on the bench as you pull out your writing block and pencil from your bag.

señor lagarde yells at jude from the field, telling him to get moving. jude shouts out that he is coming and gets moving, hitting your foot with his one last time as he leaves.

the suns heat makes you feel dizzy, and you wish that you would have taken your water bottle with you, instead of relying on the water bottles at the center. your shoes feel tight, your dress makes you want to throw yourself off a bridge and your hair isn’t looking as good as you wish it did.

“we should definitely cook together like, at least once.” jude throws in as the two of you walk past a restaurant.

you don’t register what jude says, “yeah, sure.”

“wait, really?” his voice sounds surprised at your agreement, and suddenly you feel awake, the feeling of having said something that you might regret sinking in.

“uh, wait, what did you say?”

“nah,” jude shakes his head, mischievously smiling at you, “can’t take it back now.”

“jude,” you whine, hating yourself for giving him such power, “c’mon dude, i’m tired.”

“don’t care.”

you come to a halt in front of the apartment building, getting ready to say goodbye to him, but he speaks up again, sounding too excited for your liking.

“let’s do it now, i’m ready.”

fuck, did you actually agree to sleep with him? is this why he won’t tell you?

nervously, you back off, “listen jude, i didn’t mean it, i mean yeah, you’re nice, but i really don’t want to-“

“c’mon, cooking together is actually really cool, i’m not that bad, ask mum.”

you feel relief wash over you, like a ton has been lifted up from your shoulders. suddenly, the grass looks greener, the birds chirp sweeter, the sky looks cleaner, today is such a nice day, you note, everything is just amazing-

“hello?” jude flicks your forehead, pulling you out of your daydreams as you cover your forehead with your hand, offended by his actions.

“dude!”

“let’s go, c’mon!” he tells you once more. you decide to give him, otherwise he won’t stop annoying you.

you open the door and the two of you walk up, jude tries to make you trip once, you alap the back of his head, but you safely arrive at your apartment door. opening it, you take of your shoes, you move to the kitchen while jude goes to the bathroom. looking through your fridge, you take out a few ingredients to cook some pasta with vegetables, simple but tasty.

you wait for jude to come back before you also go to the bathroom to freshen up, then you quickly get changed into something more comfortable.

“where’s your-“ jude walks into your room as you are in the middle of putting on your shirt, stopping mid sentence. “oh, fuck.” he shuts the door fast, an awkward apology leaving his mouth.

quickly putting on the shirt and taking a deep breath, you walk out the room to find jude awkwardly standing next to your door, his hands placed in front of him.

“‘m genuinely sorry, dude, like, i should have knocked.” he apologizes once more, his behavior making you smile. [because he looks stupid, not cute.]

“it’s fine, nothing to worry about.” you try to lift the mood by bumping your hips against his, winning a smile.

you walk back to the kitchen and start to give him the instructions to prepare the vegetables, yourself focusing on the sauce and the pasta.

it is like athletes getting in ‘the zone’, jude and you entirely focusing on your tasks at hand. you wanted to put on some music, but somehow the thought falls short, now the sound of you two working and moving around the kitchen filling the room. it’s nice, you don’t have the need to fill in the silence with small talk, since it doesn’t make you feel awkward. you hear jude hum the melody of a song and decide to listen to that, though it sounds rough.

“this big enough?” judes voice us soft, he moves next to you to show you the size of the tomato he cut, his body’s heat closing around you, relaxing at his closeness.

“yeah, just make sure that it doesn’t get too small.” you tell him, still stirring the sauce.

“yes, chef.” he salutes, continuing to cut up the vegetables.

everything goes on really well, the pasta looks great, the sauce tastes good and the vegetables are done. you plate the food and ask jude to take them to the table, which he does. as he comes back to put a dirty knife into the sink, you feel his big hand on the small of your back.

only when he moves back to the table you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

without further ado, you sit down around the table, “buen provecho.”

“you too.” jude immediately puts some of it into his mouth, groaning [literally moaning] at its taste.

though you agree with him that it tastes good, you don’t moan, but laugh at jude for shoving the food in to his mouth.

“the food won’t run away, y’know.” your teasing makes him look up from his plate, like a deer caught in the middle of the road.

“it’s so good.” his cheeks are full of food, however his sentence comes out clear.

a laugh escapes from your lips, somehow this entire situation is just funny to you. if someone would’ve told you two months ago that you would cook and eat dinner with jude bellingham during your internship, you’d pay their therapy from your own money. but now, look after you. here you are, eating some delicious pasta, the sun setting in the background and jude calling your name over and over again because you won’t listen to him. [you leaned how to ignore him]

“yes, jude?” you decide to answer him, his voice starting to irritate your ears.

“what are we gonna eat first dessert?”

“you leaving will be my dessert.” you sarcastically smile at him.

jude slumps back against his chair, exaggerated sigh leaving his mouth, “you were supposed to say ‘you’”

“tsk, you? where are you a dessert?” you can already feel your eye start to twitch, knowing that he will annoy you until you do as he says.

clapping his hands once, jude laughs, leaning forward, “people on the internet have other opinions, though.”

“great.”

you get up to clean your plate, not bothering to continue this [stupid] conversation.

jude appears next to you as you rinse your glass, plate at hand, “soo, ice cream?”

“don’t you miss your family?” judes side profile is highlighted by the moonshine, the many stars in his eyes now present in the deep blue sky.

though it is still warm outside, you have a thin blanket draped over your shoulders, ice cream bowl sits empty on the little table between jude and yourself.

“don’t you miss leaving me alone.” you respond, bith of you aware that you don’t actually mean it. [you do, you’re really tired and want to sleep].

“answer me, jalapeño.”

you scoff, turning your head to look at him, “that’s a stupid name.”

he turns to look at you as well, sleepy smile on his lips, “suits you, though.”

“no.”

“answer my question.”

you take a second to think, “well, yeah, i guess.”

“you guess?” judes eyes follow you as you get up to lean against the rail on the small balcony, eyes looking down at the street.

you hear him get up as well, his body now next to yours, its heat slowly coming your way. you have to fight the urge to lean against him, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“i do, i really miss my mum and my nephew,” you begin, the thought of your two year old nephew making you smile, “but i also love it here. i think i’ll even sadder to leave madrid than i was when i left home.”

jude hums in understanding, softly bumping his body against yours, “it’s because of me, right? i’m just so amazing, i’d miss me too.”

“tsk, yeah sure.” [it’s a lie]

the sound of a car passing by fills the silence between you, and you feel judes body slowly lean against yours, staying there. you don’t bother telling him to move away [you don’t want to], your body starts to tingle, warmth spreading through it. even though the night is calm, your mind is anything but that, different scenarios passing through your mind as you try to concentrate on anything but judes body. you feel his finger touching yours, slowly moving up your arm. you feel the hair on your neck stand up, heart rate picking up and each breath like its fueling the fire inside of you. you know he feels it, too, his finger is shaking as it moves up to your back, hand now caressing your neck.

you turn to look at jude, he does the same, it feels oh so slow as you two near each other, his eyes moving from your eyes down to your lips and back up, you feel it down to your feet, the tingling now numbing all of your senses. jude leans down, your faces now centimeters apart as he closes his eyes. you tilt your head to the side, feeling his breath on your skin as you also close your eyes.

the moon slowly disappears between you two, and you move to close the gap until -

#jude bellingham #football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff #lostinmadrid

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enjoythesilentworld · 3 months

Note

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions.

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.”

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”

#i'm actually not allowed to do 'drabble' prompts anymore #this is ridiculous #these were all very fun to write though #thank you to everyone who submitted a prompt <3 #this one is also a love letter to 'glowing review' by our dear bigalockwood #and also somehow mimicks ftts in its setup #my genre of fics is: simon doesn't read and then falls in love with wille in a very short amount of time #wilmon #yr ficlet #young royals #blank me

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artificial-transmutations · 1 year

Text

Two sides of the same coin - Road to Success

"You know, they should just, like, close that place down." Alden said and took another deep drag. Devan, his pal, nodded eagerly and waited for Alden to give him the blunt.

Both young men sat at their usual spot in the park opposite of the big Financial Applications Partnership bank and smoked weed. Other guys in their age were probably in college right now, learning for their future, but not those two. They started smoking weed together back in high school and had not stopped ever since. Learning, working or earning money was such a foreign concept for them. Sure, they had their part time jobs to pay for rent, but it was not something they enjoyed doing or wanted. It was a necessity in that exploitative capitalistic system they had to live in that didn't let two fine young men do what they wanted all day long. In their case, this was relaxing in the park and smoking weed. Fuck the system, really.

"Or really, all the banks." Alden continued. "Who needs money anyway? Right?"

Finally, he passed the blunt to Devan who took a drag and smiled.

"Yeah dude. Money is the worst."

Then, he made a serious face for a moment and asked. "But imagine, dude. What would you do if you had like, a ton of money? What would you buy?"

Alden was distracted for a moment by a glittering object next to his old sneaker. When he picked it up, it was a shiny coin, sparkling in the sunlight. He pocketed it quickly. He kept his money in his pocket because he believed that wallets were for rich people.

Too late he realized that Devan had asked him a question.

"Sorry dude", he smiled, "what were you saying?"

Devan shrugged and took another puff before passing the blunt over again.

"If you had, like a million dollars or even a billion. What would you do with it?"

Alden thought about it for a while, then answered honestly.

"I'd probably spend it all on weed." Then he smacked his forehead. "No, wait! I probably couldn't smoke all that weed by myself, right? So, I would just buy everyone weed, tons of weed."

Devan laughed heartily.

"Yeah man. And we could have parties every day!"

They both laughed at the idea of having parties every day. That sounded great to them.

"But how would I even get so much money?"

Devan looked around and pointed the building at the other side.

"Perhaps you'd work at the FAP bank?"

Both laughed again, the notion was ridiculous.

"Then I would probably, like, need to go to college or even university, right? That sounds like so much work."

Some subtle changes occurred to Alden's face. His hair straightened itself and his beard got a little less messy.

"Yeah, and look at you, you wouldn't even be accepted by university. Not with these dirty shoes of yours." Devan joked and took the blunt back. Neither of the two men found it odd in the least as Devan’s own shoes dissolved suddenly, leaving him bare-footed. Shortly after, his feed became black and leathery, becoming clean black lace up shoes.

Alden nodded and got out of his shoes, putting on the new ones that were Devan’s feet just a few moments ago.

"But if I were in university, I would probably ace all my classes, because I'd be really smart. And don't forget I'd play baseball. I'd be the star of the team and win all games."

This time, the changes were more extreme. Alden’s body pumped up with muscles and his new shoes transformed into cleats.

"You would need proper baseball pants for that. No way you could play with those torn jeans."

Immediately, Devan's pants vanished and revealed his legs, balls and cock, which quickly began to change. While his legs became a pair of white baseball pants, his cock and balls hardened into a sports cup and jockstrap.

"Duh, of course." Alden was already discarding his old pants and fastened the athletic cup around his groin with the jockstrap before he pulled up his new pants.

"It would of course take a while to graduate, but I would surely be top of my class. I could apply at the bank then."

Alden quickly gained a few years and his whole appearance became more cultivated. His beard disappeared and his hair became well-groomed and dyed blond.

Devan, who was now literally only half the man he used to be laughed. "As if they would even consider you if you showed up in a t-shirt. A button-up is the least they'd expect."

Immediately, his torso flattened and folded in on itself, depositing his head on the bench with the blunt still in his mouth. What was once his arms and chest formed into a neat white button-up shirt.

Alden nodded seriously and changed into his new shirt. He looked smart and neat now, with his muscles straining the shirt just the right amount.

"Of course, I can't expect to make a fortune from one day to the next. It will take me at least 20 years of hard work to establish myself in the company and raise through the ranks to upper management."

Even his speech pattern was different now, but his changes were not quite over yet. His hard earned university muscles degraded somewhat again, as more and more years piled up in him, leaving him a mid-40s ex-jock. Still attractive, but with the hard cold eyes you need in order to be really successful.

"Just imagine wearing a tie everyday..." Devan joked, as the last part of him, his head, changed and transformed into a blue silk tie.

Alden nodded politely and quickly put on his tie with movements he did a thousand times before. Then he grabbed his cigar that had fallen to the bench next to him and sighed. That cigar did cost more than other men earned in a month. Still, it had fallen to the dirty bank, so he would have to throw it away. It didn't matter. He was successful and rich now, what did he care for people less successful than him?

He straightened his expensive suit and walked back to the FAP bank. Time to make more money.

If you like the theme, be sure to check out my other stories of the same kind!

#inanimate transformation #inanimate tf #male transformation #age progression #two sides of the same coin

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stephensmithuk · 2 months

Text

"The probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon at the next election"

I thought it might be worth discussing this line in more depth, with some further points about elections in late Victorian Britain, with some reference to the recent one.

Funnily, you can actually got through this largely word by word.

The

While many of them had been abolished, there were still a number of seats that elected two MPs, such as Bath and Devonport.

You still had some "university constituences" where Masters and Doctorate level graduates could vote for two MPs. These would persist until the 1950 General Election.

The UK has pretty much always used the plurality system for General Elections aka "first past the post". Highest number of votes wins. This can result in someone getting in with 34% of the vote, which happened at the 2024 election.

In the case of a two-member seat, the top two candidates got elected. This multi-member practice is still standard for local council elections.

Probable

The UK election period is pretty short. The last election had Rishi Sunak ask the King for a dissolution on 22 May, Parliament dissolved on the 30th and the deadline for nominations on 4 June, a month before the actual election on 4 July.

The Victorians had the actual voting spread over 24 days in the 1892 election; it was possible for a candidate to lose one election, quickly get nominated in another seat and win that one.

Candidates would not therefore be fully confirmed under the formal nomination by their local party, although today the national party has a good deal of control over the process:

However, it is today common place to have "prospective parliamentary candidates" in place before an election is called. This allows them to campaign without becoming formal candidates and being subject to our strict electoral spending rules.

The UK also has its own equivalent of "carpetbaggers", known as "parachute candidates". Party HQ will "parachute" someone they want into a safe or winnable seat, frequently to the at least mild displeasure of the local party. Notable parachutists include George Galloway, Boris Johnson, Margaret Thatcher and Roy Jenkins.

Liberal

The UK had three major parties in 1889:

The Conservative and Unionist Party, generally shortened to the Conservatives or the Tories. Led by the Marquess of Salisbury, the incumbent PM since the election of 1886 gave him an overall majority. The latter is an insulting term derived from an Irish word for "outlaw", but today can be used in a neutral way - the BBC's Style Guide allows it to be used for later references. The Conservatives do not use it themselves formally. The Unionist part referred to their support for the union between Great Britain and Ireland; they had significant support in the (more Protestant) Ulster province of the latter, six of the nine counties of which would become Northern Ireland. As such they opposed "Home Rule" i.e. Irish self-determination in domestic affairs with their own parliament, although Salisbury's government did implement various reforms in Ireland seeking to "kill Home Rule by kindness". They generally favoured protectionism and a policy of keeping Britain out of foreign alliances.

The Liberals: Led by William Gladstone, considered one of our greatest Prime Ministers. Known as the G.O.M. (Grand Old Man or God's Only Mistake, depending on your POV), he had been Prime Minister for the third time during a short-lived 1886 ministry started and ended over Home Rule - he'd forced out Salisbury by a defeat over the matter with Irish support, then had his legislation defeated in the Commons, forcing an election. The Liberals had split over Home Rule, a Liberal Unionist wing aligning with the Conservatives and eventually merging with them. The Liberals favoured increased worker rights and expanding the franchise.

Irish Parliamentary Party: Made up of Irish nationalists (commonly, but not always Catholic) who wanted autonomy and land reform, they were led by Charles Stewart Parnell. Opposed to militancy in the name of Home Rule or even full independence, which was getting quite common at this time. Parnell would foil an attempt to smear him as pro-violence by forged letters claiming he was complicit in a double assassination in Phoenix Park in 1882; he requested an official enquiry and the journalist, Richard Piggott, broke down under cross-examination. Piggott was then sued for libel by Parnell, lost, then fled to Madrid where he shot himself. However, the following year, Parnell was revealed via a divorce trial to have had a long affair with a married woman called Katharine ("Katie" to her friends, "Kitty" to her enemies, the latter being a slang term for prostitute) O'Shea, fathering three of her children and "living in sin" with her. The scandal was huge, with the Catholic Church coming out against him. Refusing to resign, the party split, with the majority becoming the anti-Parnell Irish National League. Parnell married Katherine in 1891, but his health was failing due to stomach cancer and heart disease - he would die in her arms four months later. His minority faction collapsed shortly after.

While trade unions were a growing political force, the Labour Party had yet to really come into being.

Candidate

In 1892, there were 6.16 million registered voters, therefore eligible to run for the House of Common. As is obvious, universal suffrage was not a thing at this point.

This page covers the qualifications to vote and ergo, I believe, run in 1900:

For further explanation:

Of full age means over 21. The UK lowered the age to 18 in 1969, two years before the US did.

Receipt of what we would today call benefits, bar medical ones, meant no vote. Insert your own joke here.

Conviction for corrupt electoral practices also cost you your right to vote. Being incarcerated after a conviction (but not if you are on remand) today also bars you from voting, but this does not carry over after your release.

Alienage means being a foreigner, not being an extraterrestrial.

Looking at this, I believe that both Watson and Holmes would have been eligible voters. Certainly later in their careers.

Peers were and still aren't eligible to vote or run for the House of Commons. Baronets are hereditary knights and therefore not peers.

You could run as an independent candidate, but these winning were pretty rare. Having just two candidates on the ballot paper was not uncommon either.

The secret ballot having been introduced in 1872, voters would now going into a booth or partitioned area and mark their choice with a 'X', the traditional signature of the illiterate. We have never used voting machines here. It would then be dropped into a padlocked metal box.

The ballots would contain the name of the candidate and their residence. It would not have their party affiliation on it. Candidates would have to explain via posters and leaflets who supporters should vote for:

A candidate could not pull out after nominations closed - if they died and weren't an independent, the election would have to be re-run. In 2024, a number of candidates lost their party endorsement due to various controversies at the point it was too late to take them off the papers.

Mid-Devon

Our parliamentary consituencies have names, unlike the numerical districts used for the US House of Representatives.

Redistricting or boundary changes were and are done by independent boundary commissions. The Redistribution of Seats Act 1885 created three commissions (England & Wales, Scotland and Ireland) with the new requirement to keep elector populations broadly equal in each seat. Seats were expected to be compact and follow local boundaries where reasonably practical; none of those silly American district shapes here, thank you.

No further boundary changes would be done until 1918.

Mid-Devon is fictituous - I have not been able to find the name of the relevant RL consituency for the area.

Next Election

Barring the period between 2011 and 2022 where elections were fixed or required the Commons to authorise them by a 2/3 vote, the date of the next election is in the gift of the Prime Minister, who must call it within five years of the last election. In 1889, it was seven years.

The PM can ask for a dissolution and new election from the monarch at any time in that period, which is nearly always granted unless there is a viable alternative government available.

PMs generally try to call an election at the best time for them politically; sometimes it's expected, other times it will wrong foot people. The 2024 election being held in 4 July surprised nearly everyone, including many in Sunak's own party.

Salisbury called the election for 4 to 26 July 1892. The results saw the Conservative/Liberal Unionist alliance lose its overall majority, but Salisbury hung on until 12 August when the Liberals and INL collectively defeated the government in a vote of no confidence. Salisbury resigned and advised Queen Victoria to send for Gladstone. The latter, now 82, formed a minority government reliant on Irish Nationalist votes and made another attempt at Home Rule in 1893, blocked by the Lords.

Gladstone would resign the following year on health grounds and Victoria then selected Lord Rosebery to succeed him, basically as he was the only Liberal she liked.

Further notes

The House of Lords and the House of Commons were equal in power at this point; the former could therefore veto bills and block the budget.

Results were and still are announced in public declarations, these days televised. The candidates going up on the stage are privately told by the Returning Officer the results, then told not to show any sign of what has happened as they go up. It's very much poker face time.

Postal ballots are a thing, but they must be returned by close of poll on election day.

The former practice of "chairing", basically a victory parade involving the new elected member sitting on a chair and being carried around the town, had stopped in 1880.

The Oaths Act of 1888 eliminated the requirement of members to swear an oath of allegiance to the monarch, allowing them to affirm instead. This allowed non-Christians to take their seats, as well as those Christians who do not agree with swearing oaths. It is now possible to use any religious text you like when doing the oath or affirmation. However, the allegiance to the monarch bit remains to this day - Sinn Fein, who wish to see Northern Ireland become part of Ireland, refuse to take their seats because of this, while a number of MPs did this bit under protest because of their opposition to the monarchy.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #history #factoids #acd canon #the hound of the baskervilles #houn

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justinspoliticalcorner · 12 days

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Sam Levin at The Guardian:

Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi, a 26-year-old American activist killed while protesting in the occupied West Bank, was remembered by friends and former professors as a dedicated organizer who felt a strong moral obligation to bring attention to the plight of Palestinians. “I begged her not to go, but she had this deep conviction that she wanted to participate in the tradition of bearing witness to the oppression of people and their dignified resilience,” said Aria Fani, a professor of Middle Eastern languages and cultures at the University of Washington (UW) in Seattle, which Eygi attended. “She fought injustice truly wherever it was.” Fani, who had become close with Eygi over the last year, spoke to the Guardian on Friday afternoon, hours after news of her death sparked international outrage. Eygi was volunteering with the anti-occupation International Solidarity Movement when Israeli soldiers fatally shot her, according to Palestinian officials and two witnesses who spoke to the Associated Press. Two doctors told the AP she was shot in the head. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) has said it was investigating a report that troops had killed a foreign national while firing at an “instigator of violent activity”, and the White House has said it was “deeply disturbed” by the killing and called for an inquiry.

Eygi, who is also a Turkish citizen and leaves behind her husband, graduated from UW earlier this year with a major in psychology and minor in Middle Eastern languages and culture, Fani said. She walked the stage with a large “Free Palestine” flag during the ceremony, Fani said.

The professor said the two met when he was giving a guest lecture in a course on feminist cinema of the Middle East and he spoke of his own experience protesting in the West Bank in 2013. “I had no idea she would then be inspired to take on a similar experience,” he said, recounting how she reached out to him for advice as she prepared to join the International Solidarity Movement. “I tried to discourage her, but from a very weak position, since I’d already done it myself. She was very, very principled in her activism in this short life that she lived.” In her final academic year, she devoted significant time “researching and speaking to Palestinians and talking about their historical trauma”, Fani said. “She was incredibly well-informed of what life was like in the West Bank. She was not a naive traveler. This experience was the culmination of all her years of activism.”

Eygi was an organizer with the Popular University for Gaza Liberated Zone on UW’s campus, one of dozens of pro-Palestinian encampments established during protests in the spring, he said. “She was an instrumental part of … protesting the university’s ties to Boeing and Israel and spearheading negotiations with the UW administration,” Fani said. “It mattered to her so much. I’d see her sometimes after she’d only slept for an hour or two. I’d tell her to take a nap. And she’d say: ‘Nope, I have other things to do.’ She dedicated so much, and managed to graduate on top of it, which is just astounding.”

[...] Eygi’s killing drew immediate comparisons to the 2003 killing of Rachel Corrie, a 23-year-old American, also from Washington state, who was killed by an Israeli army bulldozer while protesting the military’s destruction of homes in Rafah with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM).

Turkish-American Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi was killed in the Occupied West Bank by the IDF (IOF) terrorists while protesting Israel Apartheid State’s occupation of Palestine.

#Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi #Murder of Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi #Occupation of Palestine #West Bank #Israel #Israel Apartheid #Israel Apartheid State #Rachel Corrie #Campus Protests #Israel/Hamas War #Israel Defense Forces #Israel Occupation Forces

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film-classics · 4 months

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Rosalind Russell - The Miracle Woman

Catherine Rosalind Russell (born in Waterbury, Connecticut on June 4, 1907) was an American actress known for playing sassy, wisecracking women in 1930s and '40s comedies. Despite going through postpartum depression, the deaths of her siblings, breast cancer, and rheumatoid arthritis, she thrived as a charismatic actress on film and the stage, earning the nickname "The Miracle Woman.”

Raised in a strict Irish-American, Catholic family. She attended Rosemont College and Marymount College, before graduating from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City, unbeknownst to her parents who believed she was studying to be a speech teacher.

Against parental objections, she began her career as a fashion model and took acting jobs in upstate New York, Connecticut, and Boston before eventually appearing in Broadway.

In 1933, Russell went to Los Angeles, where she was hired as a contract player for Universal Studios but did not appear in a movie. Unhappy at Universal, she moved to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, where she broke through in the classic screwball comedy His Girl Friday (1940), directed by Howard Hawks.

She took a break after giving birth from her career, but made a comeback with RKO Pictures and then with Columbia Pictures. She continued to appear in critically acclaimed movies and Broadway shows through the mid-1960s, including the title role of the long-running stage comedy Auntie Mame (based on a Patrick Dennis novel) as well as the 1958 film version.

After years of battling breast cancer and even getting a double mastectomy, she died at her home in Beverly Hills, California at 69 years of age. Months after her death, she was honored by her acting colleagues with the “Interlude With Rosalind Russell” at the Shubert Theater in Broadway.

Legacy:

Nominated four times for the Academy Award for Best Actress for her performances in My Sister Eileen (1942), Sister Kenny (1946), Mourning Becomes Electra (1947), and Auntie Mame (1958)

Won all five of her Golden Globe Award for Best Actress nominations: Sister Kenny (1946), Mourning Becomes Electra (1947), Auntie Mame (1958), A Majority of One (1961), and Gypsy (1962)

Won the 1953 Tony Award for Best Actress in a Musical for Wonderful Town and was nominated for the 1957 for Best Actress in a Play for Auntie Mame

Nominated for the 1959 BAFTA Award for Best Foreign Actress

Won the Golden Apple Award in 1942 for Most Cooperative Actress

Awarded the Look Magazine Award for Film Achievement Award in 1947

Covered Time magazine in 1953

Was the namesake of the Rosalind Russell State Theater in her hometown in 1955

Wrote the story for the film The Unguarded Moment (1956) and adapted the novel, The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax, into the screenplay for Mrs. Pollifax-Spy in 1971, under the pen name C.A. McKnight

Won the Golden Laurel for Top Female Comedy Performance for Auntie Mame (1958) and was nominated five more times

Presented with a medallion by the National Conference of Christians and Jews in 1962

Honored for her distinguished service by the UCLA in 1964

Named the Woman of the Year by Hasty Pudding Theatricals, a student society at Harvard University, in 1964

Is the recipient of the Floyd B. Odlum Award by the Arthritis Foundation in 1971

Appointed by Congress to serve on the National Commission on Arthritis and Related Musculoskeletal Diseases during the 1970s

Received the Golden Plate Award of the American Academy of Achievement in 1972

Appeared in John Springer's "Legendary Ladies" series at The Town Hall in 1973

Awarded the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award in 1973 by the Academy for her extensive charity work

Presented her with the National Artist Award in 1974 by the American National Theater and Academy

Awarded the Life Achievement Award in 1975 by the Screen Actors Guild Awards

Hosted by First Lady Betty Ford at the White House in 1976

Honored with the Rosalind Russell Week in 1977 by Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley

Co-authored her autobiography, Life Is a Banquet, in 1977

Is the namesake of the Rosalind Russell Medical Research Center for Arthritis at the University of California, San Francisco, created by a Congress grant in 1979

Inducted into the Connecticut Women's Hall of Fame in 2005

Ranked #28 on Premiere magazine's 100 Greatest Performances of All Time in 2006 for His Girl Friday (1940)

Honored as Turner Classic Movies Star of the Month for July 2008

Inducted in the Online Film and Television Association Film Hall of Fame in 2014

Was the subject of a 2016 exhibit at the Mattatuck Museum in her hometown

Honored by the Berlin Film Festival‘s 27-movie tribute in 2022

Has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in the 1700 block of Vine Street for motion picture

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ciaossu-imagines · 9 months

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hey! ^^

I'd like to request Servamp + the high school prompt please!

Thank you~

(if someone requested Servamp + the vampire prompt i wonder how you would've done it hahaha)

You make such a good point - if someone had requested that, it really would have been a fun time trying to come up with some vampiric twist! I love high school AU's though so this was a fun one to write and I hope you'll enjoy! I honestly think this is the longest thing I've ended up writing in a while but the idea for the story and the universe really got away from me.

Welcome to Servamp Academy (sue me, dear readers - I suck at naming things so bad)! It's not just a high school, but a boarding school for high school students. And not only is it a boarding school, but one with a very old, storied (and lately a little fearsome) reputation.

It was established far before anyone can remember, and for the past twenty years, it's Headmaster is a man only known to the public world as Sensei. He was very famous, but in recent years, the last five years or so, nobody has seen him in public. Though the school has remained voiceless about its Headmaster, truth be told, he hasn't even been seen by the school's staff for at least that long, with emails being the only way he communicates with his staff anymore, giving them his orders, which they still faithfully follow.

Servamp Academy accepts only the best and the brightest of students. In fact, it's normal class size is at most 15 students per year. These students are prodigies, geniuses, children of elites - in short, the top 1%. But in every first year class, there's one student who gets in via a public lottery. It's a really big deal, as the school is known not only for its high tuition costs but also for churning out the future leaders, artists, celebrities, and movers and shakers. All of its graduates go on to live almost impossibly charmed lives.

However, there's a shadow over Servamp Academy this year as the school opens its door for the school year again. At the last of the year, Servamp Academy had to close its doors for the summer vacation early and under horrible circumstances. One of its students, Ophelia, the daughter of a foreign ambassador and someone who was making a name for herself as a model UN representative and a leading actress in many school plays, went missing near the start of summer break, with her room found ransacked and bloody. The police investigated but could not find any trace of her…until her body was found over summer break, hanging from the Academy's clock tower, while all the students and staff were supposed to be on vacation. There are many rumours regarding her death, with no exact cause of death or any leads being found by the police, and Servamp Academy is opening its door for the new year with those frightening rumours haunting everyone's minds…

So, there is another weird thing about Servamp Academy. All of the incoming first year students have mandatory 'buddies'. So, the way it works is that after graduating the first year, the best of the second years are chosen to mentor and lead the new first years. The remaining second years, if there are any, play back up mentors and also step in to help and guide the first years. According to the school's guidelines, this is to help the students learn leadership skills that are necessary for success in life. These buddies live with their assigned first years, and the remaining second years, if any, live on an additional floor above the first years in their dormitory so that they can be close at hand. Once students have graduated to the third year, they learn the coursework they would have normally learned in the second year, and then graduate on to the fourth year, their final year before they graduate the Academy. The Academy also has an affiliated university for those students wishing to go on to higher learning.

This year's lottery winner for the first year is one that drew a lot of attention. There's a lot of rumours already around this first year, people outraged and crying school favoritism. That's because this year's lottery winner was the child of one of the school staff members. In particular, the school's student counsellor, Tooru Shirota. His nephew, who he's legal guardian of, won the lottery to get into the school. While the school does pay its staff well, their staff can't afford the tuition on their wages, not without being independently wealthy themselves, and it's only ever happened once before, the previous year, and though the school gave all the public assurances, it's widely known among the staff and even the students that that one was definitely school favoritism.

Mahiru was initially really worried about winning the lottery. It seemed simpler to just go on to a normal high school but once chosen, he figured it would be more trouble than it was worth to refuse the lottery win. Besides, his uncle works lots of long hours at the school so he figures it would be nice to have the opportunity to spend more time around his uncle. He's even able to pretty easily shrug aside the nasty rumours and the student death of the previous year. It has nothing to do with him and he's sure the school is perfectly safe.

Mahiru arrives at the school to find even more luck on his side. He'd been best friends with Sakuya Watanuki since the two of them were in the sandbox together. Sakuya had moved away the prior year, after some family tragedy that Mahiru never got the full story on, and it was really hard to lose his best friend. So imagine Mahiru's surprise and joy to find out that Sakuya, a prodigy at reading people's body language and facial expressions to the point that he'd been called a human lie detector by some, had been scouted by Servamp Academy and was also a fellow first year. While the Sakuya Mahiru re-met was more somber, a little different and more withdrawn than the one he'd always known, the bond of friendship was definitely still strong and both boys were just glad to see each other, to be together again.

Mahiru's 'mentor' was supposed to meet him at the gate when Mahiru arrived for orientation. However, his buddy was nowhere to be found and it was actually lucky that he saw Sakuya. Sakuya and his 'buddy' guided Mahiru as to where to go for orientation and it was while waiting for orientation to start that Mahiru first met his buddy…who was being forcibly dragged, complaining all the way, towards Mahiru by another first year and their buddy. Mahiru's buddy? Kuro, whose genius was only surpassed by his complete and utter laziness. This whole mentoring business? Way too much work and way too much trouble in Kuro's opinion but the staff insisted and the two were forced to find ways to live and work alongside each other. They end up bickering a lot but Mahiru soon finds out and continues to find out through the story that, when push comes to shove, Kuro is a surprisingly good buddy, someone who will have his back and help him out.

Sakuya's buddy? It's a second year by the name of Tsubaki, a supposed genius. Mahiru doesn't know a lot about Tsubaki, but truth be told, neither does anyone else, even his fellow second years or the upper classman. Tsubaki is prone to odd, eccentric behaviour and speeches but there's hints given throughout the story that despite his apparent eccentricities (most people avoid him because he seems crazy and kind of gives them the creeps), Tsubaki knows a lot more about the school and about the former year's tragedy than he's letting on…at times in the story, you would almost wonder if Tsubaki and his group didn't have something to do with it.

Mahiru in particular finds it really hard to trust Tsubaki, though he does try to befriend him for Sakuya's behalf at first. It really puts Mahiru off though that Tsubaki is almost possessive of Sakuya, separating Sakuya from the other first years whenever possible and Tsubaki seems almost bound and determined to stop the rekindling of Sakuya and Mahiru's friendship. There seems to be a past between Sakuya and Tsubaki though, something that occurred in the year he and Mahiru were apart and it's got to be something major though because Sakuya tells Mahiru flat out that he's very loyal to Tsubaki and would trust him with his life.

Sakuya and Tsubaki are almost always together…if Tsubaki himself cannot assure that Sakuya is with him, than one of the others in the group of students who surround and almost worship Tsubaki is with Sakuya. This includes fellow second years Berukia and Otogiri, third year Shamrock, or fourth year Higan. There are dark rumours around both Tsubaki and the others in his group and people do their best to steer clear of these students, even school staff at times.

Now, you might be wondering about that first year and their buddy that dragged Kuro to meet Mahiru. That first year was a boy by the name of Misono Alicein, the heir to Alicein Corporation (in this universe, I see it being a company very much like Disney - they seem to own almost everything entertainment related). Though prim, proper, and a little awkward, Misono is a kind boy and him and Mahiru grow a friendship really quickly. Misono's buddy is almost his exact counterpoint. Lily is recognizable right away, a teen model who has already garnered a fair amount of fame and celebrity. The two of them are almost the model first year and mentor pair and when Kuro and Mahiru have a hard time really getting along or getting the hang of the school, it's Misono and Lily who help them out and guide them.

Surprising Misono though, he's not the only Alicein in the first year. Mikuni Alicein also shows up as a first year student, despite being older than the other first years. He held off on attending high school, busy exploring the world, and since age is not a requirement the school holds too strongly to, he was accepted in. The problem is that things between Mikuni and Misono are not great, to say the least. Mikuni himself is a genius and a prodigy but rumours abound as to why, at the age of ten, Mikuni was emancipated and disowned from the Alicein family. The family themselves and the staff in the household are forbidden from ever even mentioning him and Misono has no idea as to why. He knows something happened and there are vicious rumours among the uppercrust society, but what he does know is that he feels he hates his brother…feels abandoned and untrusting towards him. Meanwhile, Mikuni sees this attending school together to reconnect with his brother, only to find himself rebuffed at any second.

Is it only his brother that Mikuni is there for though? It's heavily hinted that there's a lot more to Mikuni than his outgoing, silly personality implies. What all he knows and why and how much of a hand he has in the story's events? Not even Mikuni's 'buddy' knows.

And speaking of Mikuni's buddy, it's a boy named Jeje. Jeje comes from a famed family of artisans known for their skill in making masks. Jeje himself is no exception. The masks he makes are highly sought after, exquisitely beautiful. Jeje, a quiet and imposingly tall boy, wears a different mask, each handmade by him, every day, something that does not lessen the fear and unease his fellow students feel around him and he is normally quite avoided on campus.

The only person routinely seen around Mikuni and Jeje both is a third year student by the name of Johannes Mimir Faustus. Johannes is the creator, leader, and one of only two members of the school's Science Club. Johannes is a famed inventor and scientist already at his young age and there's rumours about just how far the boy would go to learn, grow, and advance the world's scientific knowledge - possibly even all the way to downright murder and experimentation on a human body. However, those are only rumours, though the boy's not really behaving like he's playing with a full deck, if you get what I mean. Johannes himself is very unconcerned with the rumours. Everything he does, he does to learn new things and as such, he's perfectly willing to align himself with whomever will grant him the best opportunities to learn something new and interesting.

Another first year that Mahiru soon gets friendly with is a boy by the name of Tetsu. Mahiru stumbles across him after orientation. Tetsu's trying to look for and refind his 'buddy', something that occurs frequently throughout the story as the two seem to constantly be getting lost or separated from each other. Tetsu is the youngest of the first years, the most unsure of how to navigate the school and its rules and quirks. He's known as the world's strongest boy and made a name for himself as a tweenage wrestler, but honestly, he's a gentle giant who just wants to make friends and have a happy school life.

His buddy is a second year student named Hugh, a perfect match for Tetsu as Hugh is also a child prodigy and much younger than the other students, both the first and second years. A literal child, Hugh hardly acts it. He's prideful and boastful and a little annoying at times, but most of all, he's very secretive…he definitely knows things that he won't tell, that he shouldn't know, and the only one to trust him fully throughout the events of the story is Tetsu himself.

Another first year is a girl by the name of Izuna Nobel. She's a genius inventor and mechanic, known for making waves in the field of robotics. Izuna's a really kind girl but I don't see her making really close friends with most of her fellow first years. To be honest, inventing is her biggest passion, her hobby, and what she spends most of her time doing when she doesn't have to be in class. So she doesn't really spend a lot of time with her fellow first years and she's definitely only really close to her 'buddy' but I still see her really helping out the others and still being kind to them throughout the story's events.

Izuna's buddy is a second year named Freya. Freya is a wealthy heiress, an heiress to a Russian crime family if you believe the rumours. Honestly, most everyone in the school is terrified of her, especially given her 'resting bitch face', with only a few chosen people having gained friendships with her. Her and Izuna are almost always together, together with another second year who is really close to Freya, Gilberto Weasel and a third year who was Gil's buddy the prior year, Rayscent Crazyrabbit.

The first year that gets the least attention though and almost seems to fade into the background a lot is a quiet boy named Niccolo Carpediem. The son and heir of the largest family in the Italian mob, Niccolo is somehow still very much a nonpresence, a very quiet boy who seems almost invisible at points given how little people notice him. It's actually a skill in its own right though and don't mistake his shyness for weakness because Niccolo didn't get accepted into Servamp Academy just due to his wealth - he's more than capable in his own right. Completely the opposite of Niccolo is his 'buddy', Ildio, a loud and brash second year and master chef who won some amount of celebrity for his overwhelming victory on a children's cooking competition show. They appear to be complete opposites, the quintessential odd pair, but surprisingly, Ildio and Niccolo get along really well and have the least amount of quarrels or hesitation working together out of all the first years and their buddies.

But the first year that gets the most attention? That's easy because it's not just the first year everyone is studying, but their second year buddy. The first year is a famous piano prodigy, Licht Jekylland Todoroki, who has already played major concerts throughout the world, though they've temporarily retired to attend school. Honestly, Licht only agreed to attend Servamp Academy because his part-time manager and promoter, the better of the two he has, Rosen Crantz, also chose to attend the school and is in his third year. Licht hates the idea of the buddy system right from the get-go though and is always at odds with his 'buddy'.

And who is his buddy? Oh, his buddy is absolutely famous, both by his own merit and by his very close connection to Ophelia, the dead student at the center of last year's tragedy. Lawless is a famous child actor who took a hiatus from the silver screen and the stage to attend Servamp Academy. While there, he became close to Ophelia and the two of them starred in the many stage productions the school put on. Everyone knew them to be almost inseparable. Rumours are swirling that Lawless had something to do with Ophelia's disappearance and death, that he has to know something. Lawless absolutely refuses to believe any of the official stories being stated about Ophelia, either from the school or the police, who believe one of their former teachers might have had a hand in it, that Ophelia and the teacher had been having an affair and that her death was a crime of passion, given creedance by the fact that the teacher in question disappeared around the same time, assumed to be on the run. He knows Ophelia too well to believe anything like that about her and is bound and determined to get to the truth of her death. He has absolutely no time for this buddy shit and he makes it clear to his buddy from the beginning. He's begged and pleaded and even tried to blackmail his fellow second years into helping him with no success…The only people he can seem to get to listen to him are his best friend, a fourth year called Guildenstern, whose the Acting Club's lighting director. Oh, and Syuhei Tsukimitsu, the son of the disgraced teacher, who accepts a menial job as the janitor of the first year dormitories in order to infiltrate the school and try to clear his father's name.

Other important characters include a gang of second years who aren't buddied with any particular student. They can be helpful or completely apathetic, often bouncing in between the two, seemingly guided by their own desires and wants. However, one of those second years is particularly famous, given that he's the only other student to win the lottery that has a parental figure working in the school. That second year is, of course, Tsurugi Kamiya, the adopted son of the school's assistant headmaster (so, for all extents and purposes, with Sensei not being seen, the one running the day to day and making all the rules), Taishi Toma. Tsurugi is joined by his two friends - a genius by the name of Junichirou Kurumamori and the youngest son of an insanely wealthy family, Yumikage Tsukimitsu.

Also among the staff members are its literature teacher, Iori Tsukimitsu, the heir to the Tsukimitsu family and his sister, Miyako Tsukimitsu, the art history teacher.

Formerly the physical education and survival teacher, Yoshimasa Tsuyuki has been missing since the day Ophelia went missing.

Through the story, I do see the first year's getting sucked into this whole investigation, along with their buddies and the other characters, and they're all trying to solve the mystery, as well as uncovering the many secrets of Servamp Academy, including the one surrounding its very mysterious headmaster.

And to anyone wondering, Koyuki and Ryusei, though they didn't get into Servamp Academy like Sakuya and Mahiru, they still routinely write, email, text, and Snap their two childhood friends and are super proud of their friends for getting into Servamp Academy.

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